


Kill the Lights

by Duckyqueen



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M, Unrequited Love, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 15:11:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckyqueen/pseuds/Duckyqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War makes everyone equals</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill the Lights

**Author's Note:**

> _And after midnight we're all the same  
>  No glass shoe to bring us fame   
> Nobody to take the blame   
> We're falling apart _ -'Kill the Lights', The Birthday Massacre

In France, Thomas sees him again. The Duke, serving his time in the military. He doesn't recognize Thomas at first and Thomas doesn't blame him. The Duke has been shot in the leg and is losing blood. Thomas carefully pulls out the bullet. Thomas gets to work suturing it closed. He tips a flask into the Duke's mouth and watches the pale, mud streaked throat work to swallow the alcohol.   
At around midnight, the Duke awakens and spots Thomas, smoking silently at his side.  
“Thomas?” He croaks. Thomas gives him a thin smile, with no humor to it.   
“Sir,” he says in reply. The Duke tries to sit up and Thomas pushes him back down. “You lost quite a bit of blood sir, I advise you to stay still.”  
“Thomas...” The Duke is trying to reach for his hand and his hand, cooler than Thomas remembers, finally finds his. “Thomas I didn't know you had joined.” Thomas is quiet and taps some ash onto the side of his stool, his other hand still trapped in the Duke's. “I didn't want to join,” the Duke says quietly. “I thought that being nobility would...” He trails off.   
No, Thomas thinks. Not even having the title and all the money in the world can save you. It makes him smile for no good reason he can think of. He doesn't tell the Duke about how he'll be moved to a hospital within the next few days. He doesn't tell the Duke that he'll probably walk with a cane and limp for the rest of his life, if he's lucky. If he's not, the wound will get infected and the leg will have to be amputated. Or he will die. Thomas has seen all these scenarios play out over the past year and a half. None of it would surprise him.  
Thomas doesn't tell the Duke any of this. Because maybe the Duke is still too beautiful to have his life twisted up so soon by such facts.  
Or maybe because Thomas is still bitter, how every time he remembers the letters (those beautiful letters, saying he loved Thomas. Would take him away...) crackling and turning to ash in the fire, bile rises in his throat.  
Maybe it's both these things, but there's no one who can be blamed at this point.  
At midnight, in the trenches, there is no difference between a master and a servant. A Duke and a footman. Medic and soldier. A Duke cannot escape the trenches, no more than a footman can.   
“Thomas,” the Duke whispers. “Am I going to die?” The hand on his grips tighter. Thomas swallows. The moment ticks past. “I don't want to die,” the Duke says. More silence, gunfire in the distance. “One last kiss then, if I'm on my way out.” Thomas says nothing, remembering how he kissed the Duke that final night. Soft and sweet and toying and wanting. He wanted to be taken away, to a greener pasture. But he had walked out of the bedroom that night, with his heart in tatters, his pride bruised. His only evidence of a time when he was truly happy, up in smoke.  
He pulls his hand away and stands up. The Duke stares up at him, eyes wide, face pale. Thomas turns to go, then stops, his back to the Duke.   
He turns back and leans over the man, kisses him, soft and quick. There is no love in the gesture, at least to Thomas. He leaves the tent without looking back at the Duke.

He sits outside, in the cold and damp and smokes some more. Shells go off far away, but light up the sky orange.   
The sky is getting lighter and the stars soon begin to fade. Die out of the sky. With each passing moment, the sky gets brighter and brighter, each tiny light killed without a second thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Dang, this ended up being really short...


End file.
